When Summer Goes to its Rest
by Taattosbt
Summary: The Scarecrow's first Halloween did not go as planned. But nothing in life ever does. And meetings with old friends are the best of surprises. As Harleen Quinzel says "Everything will be alright."


The sun had set when the knock came at the door. Well, mostly set. If one had owned a penthouse atop one of Gotham's imposing skyscrapers one would have seen the vestiges of the sunset clinging to the curve of the horizon. Jonathan Crane was not so fortunate and so contented himself with night and an abandoned apartment complex. Or rather a no-questions-asked apartment complex. Though his accommodations came with the increased risk of capture, they also came with such amenities as electricity and running water. They did not come with knocks at the door.

What was more, he was busy. It was Halloween. His first Halloween since the abortive attempt to destroy Gotham. His first since becoming a villain. And it was after dark. Jonathan did not have time for visitors.

Still a visitor might be fun.

He left his costume on the bed, letting the sleeve of the some-time straight jacket fall unfilled to the blanket.

He was greeted with a grinning plastic jack-o-lantern, its top open to the sky and brimming with candy. Above it a woman, far too old for trick-or-treating and dressed in a red and black clown costume, beamed at him. "Good evening, Jonathan."

"Good evening, Harleen."

They continued grinning at each other almost as broadly as the synthetic pumpkin, which grinned at no one in particular. It was a contest he was destined to lose. "Beam" was a more than usually apt description of Dr. Harleen Quinzel. She radiated a reserved yet indomitable optimism. At the core of her being was the certainty that everything would be alright in the end and aren't you silly for thinking otherwise. It was where her talent for treating the criminally insane came from. And it was currently pouring out of the smile plastered between her golden pigtails.

Mercy won out and Harleen broke the silence first, allowing Jonathan a dignified defeat. "This is for you." She held out the bowl.

He blinked down at the mountain of candy. "Did you go begging for it?"

"Bought. But I've no use for it now. Not at this time of night." In other cities "this time of night" would be considered early. In Gotham it was late, especially on Halloween. The proper trick-or-treaters would have been ushered home by their parents before the sun so much as gave a thought to going down.

"Rough neighborhood?"

"Since you left Arkham every neighborhood is rough." Her smile faded slightly, "Not a single person knocked on my door." Then returned in full force, "I've nothing else to do tonight, what with you not hosting the Halloween party anymore."

Silence again. It was Jonathan's turn to break it. "How did you find me?"

"A patient. Mr. Zsasz. One of yours, I believe." It was a polite statement, but like so many polite statements it dressed a nasty truth. "yours" meant "your experiments." Still, her voice was gentle. If he hadn't known her so long he would never have caught the note of disappointment.

He took a breath, then "Did you call the police?"

"Of course. Someone has to be a law-abiding citizen here. If only for the novelty."

He smiled, and she smiled. And he fingered the canister of fear gas up his sleeve, and she clutched the bowl a little tighter. "So what do I do now?" He asked. It was not a polite statement. It was a threat.

"Oh, I don't think they'll come. We've all been a little over zealous in volunteering information on you. Arkham has cried 'wolf' one too many times. They've started to ignore us."

He saw her take a breath to speak again, but beat her to the punch "Would you like to come in?"

She lit up, "I thought you wouldn't ask." He stepped aside to let her through. She didn't bounce, she was far too graceful, but her gait held joy for anyone who bothered to go looking for it.

"Well, I'll be needing a hostage in case our boys in blue do show up." He shut the door.

It would have been menacing if Harleen hadn't then shoved the bowl of candy at him. It is difficult to look menacing with such a prop. "That's the Jonathan I know. Ever pragmatic." She stepped into his dingy living room, looking at once thoroughly out of place and totally at ease. Harleen was the only person he knew who could be such a contradiction.

He deposited the candy on the coffee table. "Take your coat?"

"You're too kind." She slipped it off and added, "cell phone's in the left pocket."

"I was about to ask." He fished it out and tucked it into his own.

She frowned for the first time that night. "Good lord. You are worried about the GCPD."

He smiled, "Pragmatist."

She laughed softly, "Tell you what, ten bucks says they don't show up."

"Rather low stakes"

"I'm not carrying that much on me." She shrugged, "Rough neighborhood and all that."

"Logical." He folded her coat over the arm of the couch. "And out of your usual character." Harleen laughed again.

It was a sparse room, only the table, a couch, and a chair. One wall served for a kitchen. Lined along it was a small fridge, an oven, a stove top, a sink, and a few cabinets. Sparse and normally cold. But not at that moment.

"So," she rubbed her hands together, "shall we make some tea? Catch up? You do have tea, don't you?"

"Of course I do." He went to the wall and produced an old kettle and a box of cheap tea bags. "Though I do have to question your sanity if tea is the first thing on your mind after entering the apartment of a known psychopath."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"The apartment or the sanity?"

"Both if we count work as apartments." She took the kettle, filled it, and placed it on the stove top. "Do you have mugs?"

"Over the fridge." He gestured. "I wouldn't count Arkham as apartments."

"No? Seems quite comfortable to me."

"You've never been on the receiving end." He watched Harleen raise herself onto her tiptoes and feel around for the mugs. "They're at the back."

"Would you care to give us a customer service report?" She called, head still buried in the cabinet. He laughed. She turned, triumphantly clutching two coffee mugs. "You know, one of my favorite memories is drinking tea at your Halloween party."

"Which year?"

She bit her lip, "Early. Five years back? I hate memory. It's never there when I need it."

Jonathan nodded, "That's the year Jeremiah spiked the drinks."

"Explains a lot." She set the cups down. "We miss you."

He leaned on the back of the couch and tilted his head. He gathered his nerves and met her eyes. "Do you miss me or do you miss the man hours?"

She looked back unblinking, "Both." She paused. Looked away. Looked back. "We're very busy."

"You're going to get busier."

Her lips parted slightly and for the first time he saw fear in her eyes. Not the usual fear, not his favorite. It was more apprehension, or concern, and underneath it all a seed of the determined. "What have you heard?"

He could frighten her now. Tell her what he had planned for tonight. The screams, the cruelty. He could tell her about the clown with the mangled smile. He didn't. Instead he said, "Some unsavory characters are in town."

The kettle whistled. Harleen smiled. "Nothing we haven't had before." She poured the tea.

They each took a mug and sat. As if nothing were strange or dangerous. As if nothing of the past few months had happened. They sat waiting for the tea to cool. "What are you dressed as?"

"Arlecchino." She beamed again. And suddenly it wasn't just "as if" things were normal. They were normal.

"For those of us who didn't consider a major in drama?"

"He's a stock character out of the Italian theatrical form commedia dell'arte." She took a sip, "He can be stupid and reckless, but everything works out in the end. As all the best comedies do."

"To comedy." He raised his cup. "Though that doesn't sound like a costume to me."

Harleen let out something between a gasp and laughter, "You're one to talk. What are you supposed to be?" She waved her hand up and down, appraising his slightly disheveled suit. "A psychiatrist?"

"In my case that's a costume." He leaned forward and set his tea on the table. "No. My costume is in the other room."

He had expected fear. Or at least a sudden tip-toeing around the room's elephantine occupant. Instead he got a mischievous look, "Is it The Costume?"

To his credit, he took it in stride. Harleen was Harleen. One simply had to roll with the punches, hold on tight, and hope the conversation ended soon. Or never ended, depending upon one's feelings on conversation. He nodded, "It is The Costume."

She gave a mock gasp, "May I see it?"

"Haven't you?"

"No." She sighed. "I left work early. Missed the whole thing."

"Are you—" He searched for the right word, "Disappointed?"

She looked at him. "Wouldn't you be?" From anyone else it would have sounded ridiculous. From Harleen it was totally sincere. "The chance to discover and face my greatest fears. I've been kicking myself for months. Can't believe I missed it." She collapsed into the couch.

"I'm glad you did." He couldn't meet her eyes. "I wish all of you had. I kept thinking of ways to get you all out of the Narrows." It was true. It was the one part of Scarecrow he'd wrestled with. He'd wanted to save them, his colleagues. His friends. Arkham was a strange place, but for a while it was home.

They shared the silence. It wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't awkward. It was wistful. And empty. "There's a place for you." Harleen stared into her tea, swirling it and watching the patterns form and fade. "There's always a place."

"It's not the one I want." He watched her take a breath to speak. To say something. Anything. To make it better. He stopped her before she did. "But I can't have it."

"I want to help so badly."

"I know. That's your natural response to psychopaths."

"But you're not. You're a friend." He stared at her. He could feel the bewilderment on his face. He knew he looked dumb, but the words coming out of her mouth did not make any sense. "That's all any of us sees when we look at you. We hear about 'The Scarecrow' on TV or read your file and all we think of is Halloween tea, and boring meetings, and crappy coffee from the convenience store down the street."

"What would happen if I came back?"

"We'd stick you in a cell." She said it so matter-of-factly. He frowned. "And we'd be in there every day asking for advice, and second opinions, and where we left such-and-such a file." He chuckled. It encouraged her. "Honestly. Sometimes I think you were the only thing holding that place together." She reached for the bowl and pulled out a piece of chocolate. "Let's talk about something else. I don't want to be gloomy. It's so easy."

He grabbed the first topic that came into his head. "What do you think you would have seen?"

"Hm?"

"If you'd been there. When I…" He trailed off.

And she didn't miss a beat. "I don't know. That's why I wanted to be there. I don't know what I'm afraid of. I mean I must be afraid of something." Everything was normal again. The conversation felt like a high-wire act, but it was a most enjoyable high-wire act. He knew he had things to do. For the moment tea was enough. "Isn't everyone?"

The question jolted him out of his metaphor. "Why are you asking me?"

"You're the expert on fear."

"Ex-expert on fear. I hope you didn't come here for a therapy session."

She rolled her eyes, "They took away your license, not your knowledge." She prodded his arm gently. "Answer the question."

He looked down at his arm. It was his first human contact in a long time. He hadn't missed it. It was the sort of thing one only misses after having found it again. He looked up. "I think so. Yes."

"So what am I afraid of?"

"Again: I am not currently a doctor."

"If you say so." She straightened her back and held her mug up. "To the mysteries of life. May there always be a few left."

"Cheers." They clinked cups.

* * *

There were more toasts. And cup upon cup, kettle upon kettle, of tea. And words. Words which bled easily into laughter and memory. It was the sort of night that, though when considered logically was a finite span of time, felt infinite. Midnight came and went in wit and philosophy. Halloween faded from the calendar, collecting its hat and promising come again.

Dawn crept over the river and slipped in through the window. Harleen watched it slide across the floor as she recovered from her latest fit of giggles. "You owe me ten dollars."

Jonathan looked puzzled, "What?" His memory came back to him, late as usual. "I never took that bet."

"Still, I was right. The police had better things to do tonight." Her face fell, "Suddenly I'm dreading the morning paper." It was a joke, but it was far from the funniest of the night.

"My conscience rests clear." He looked her up and down. "You're worse than Batman."

"What?"

"You kept me busy all night. You've pioneered a new form of vigilantism."

Harleen got to her feet and reached around him for her coat. "If you're going to be insulting, I'm leaving." She said with a smile.

"I prefer your strategy. It's much more pleasant." He reached into his pocket and held up her phone, "You'll be needing this."

"Thank you." She took it, but didn't put it away. "I'll have to call them again. When I'm outside." He made to take it back, but she snatched it away. "Just a warning."

"Your respect for the law is a kill joy." He got up and helped her pull on her coat. "Thank you for the surprise party. You are a wonderful distraction."

She turned and smiled up at him, "Thank you. You are a kind host, and I am proud to count you as a friend."

"I can't tell if you're serious or not."

She ambled toward the door, holding up thumb and forefinger, "I was this close to being a drama major."

Her hand was on the door knob when he said "About… things getting busy. There's something you should know. There's —"

"A Clown." The concern was back, but her eyes also held trust and care, in him and for him. The room felt so warm. Perhaps it was the sun. "GCPD's been giving us updates."

"Will he go on your docket?"

"Probably." It was barely a whisper, but it carried.

"Harleen, be careful."

She swallowed and nodded. "It will be alright. Everything will be alright." She opened the door. "Have a nice day, Jonathan." Then she was gone.

Jonathan looked at the door for a moment, at where she had been. Then he left for the bedroom. He grabbed a bag from the closet and stuffed it with the bare necessities. He had to move on. Harleen was outside obeying the law and he was inside evading it.

His costume lay untouched where he'd left it. He paused a moment, hand hovering over the mask. Then he scooped it into the bag. He pried open the window and stepped out onto the fire escape. He breathed in November, then climb down.

Arkham would always be there.

* * *

The characters appearing in this story belong to Christopher Nolan, D.C. Comics, and Warner Brothers Pictures. No profit is made of their use herein.


End file.
